


Twist

by coffeewordangel



Series: Ana sucks but her party was okay [2]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M, brief depiction of homophobic character, mild drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 11:20:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13635237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeewordangel/pseuds/coffeewordangel
Summary: Companion piece to Lime.





	Twist

**Author's Note:**

> Companion piece to Lime.

Mikey kind of thinks Ana likes him. It’s the only reason he can think of for getting an invite to her kegger. Also, she giggles a lot when he talks to her and keeps finding excuses to touch him.

It’s really sort of irritating.

Besides, if he were to be interested in a girl it would be her best friend Julie because she’s cool and pretty and doesn’t say things like “I just don’t see how Gerard can be your brother. He’s so fucking _weird_!” and then tilt her head like he’s supposed to agree or something. But Julie’s been going out with Todd since, like, the beginning of time and they’ll probably get married and have a dog and 2.5 kids and a white picket fence and they’ll rot in the suburbs like everyone else.

It’s sad and all but, really, it has nothing to do with him so he keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t say anything about college football scholarships or blown out knees or crumbled dreams. They might make it. He’s no fortune teller.

All in all, Mikey doesn’t think he’s ever been so happy to see anyone in his entire life as Pete fucking Wentz when he appears out of nowhere to fling an arm over Mikey’s neck as well as Ana’s. Actually, Pete’s a little too short to comfortably wrap his arm around Mikey’s neck so he settles for a hand on Mikey’s shoulder.

Occasionally his index finger slides over to graze the skin on Mikey’s neck, sending electric shocks down Mikey’s spine. Mikey thinks he might be a little drunker than he’d previously assumed.

“How are my bitches this evening?” Pete greets a little drunkenly.

He appears to be wearing eyeliner and purple glitter. And a tiara. It makes him look like a demented Cinderella. Only Pete, Mikey thinks with a wry smile.

“I am not your _anything_ , Wentz,” Ana snaps, removing his arm like it’s some dead animal that found its way around the sacrosanct skin of her neck.

Ana _really_ doesn’t like Pete. He is what she calls a ‘flaming fag’. Except Mikey’s not sure how true that is. Pete’s overly affectionate, sure, and he’s been labeled a slut (although high school kids are less concerned with truth than sensationalism - they’re like tabloid journalists in a way) but he doesn’t seem to have a fixed proclivity for guys or anything. And Mikey’s been watching.

“Hey Pete,” he greets quietly which earns him a full-blown sparkly Pete Wentz grin. He pretends that doesn’t make his knees weak.

“That’s sort of a mysoginistic statement, Pete,” Julie comments in a disapproving tone.

“What? No it’s not. I was totally including Mikey in my greeting. You’re my bitch, aren’t you, Mikes?”

Mikey is feeling drunker by the second. “Absolutely,” he agrees which earns him another blindingly white grin.

“See?” Pete gives Ana a haughty look of righteousness, even though Julie was the one he was supposed to prove his point to, and for a second Mikey thinks he’s going to stick his tongue out at her.

“Whatever,” Ana intones with a look of distaste.

Pete just smirks and moves his hand so its cupping the back of Mikey’s neck. “And on that note, my bitch and I are leaving.”

He steers Mikey out of the kitchen and Mikey wonders if this means Ana won’t like him anymore. He hopes so.

Halfway down the hall Pete jumps on Mikey’s back and wraps his legs around his waist.

“Oof,” Mikey gasps, not because Pete is heavy or anything, more because it’s unexpected. Also because he may be a little aroused at the sudden contact.

“To the basement!” Pete orders into Mikey’s ear, breath hot and vodka-spiked.

“I’m going to trip on the stairs and we’ll both break our necks,” Mikey warns.

“N’aww,” Pete scoffs. “We’ll be fine. I want to show you something down here.”

Somehow they make it downstairs in one piece and Pete slides off Mikey’s back. Mikey mourns the loss for a split second and then he’s following Pete into a bedroom with black walls and Slayer posters. Pete rummages in the closet for a second before emerging with a bong and a small bag of pot.

“How’d you know that was there?”

Pete grins. “I’m a nosy fuck.”

Mikey has to laugh even though he’s a bit scandalized. His mother taught them to respect other people’s things.

Pete shakes the bag at Mikey. “You wanna?”

“I guess. Whose is it?” 

“Ana’s older brother’s.”

“Won’t he be mad?”

Pete snickers. “At Ana. He doesn’t even know who we are.”

It still feels wrong but it’s Pete so Mikey just shrugs. “Yeah.” He pauses, then repeats himself with a little more surety. “Yeah.”

On their way back to the stairs Mikey peers in a room he hadn’t noticed before and realizes it’s Gerard sitting on the couch, glassy-eyed and soft around the edges. He looks at odds with the dull, poorly-decorated room; like some artist had placed him there all dark and angelic to show how depressing and bland the room really was.

“You okay, Gee?” he asks with genuine concern. House parties are not really Gerard’s scene.

Gerard smiles sloppily and waves a glass of punch at him. The kind that’s 99% alcohol and 1% something else added for color. From Gerard’s expression he’s had more than a few. He almost goes to his brother just to be sure but then Pete’s running fingers up his ribs and breathing hot and moist against his neck and Mikey almost forgets he has a brother.

“Upstairs, Mikeyway,” Pete sing-songs into his ear before dashing past him to the stairs.

Mikey waves at Gerard and then sprints after Pete.

Pete had a little head start and Mikey’s giraffe legs sort of got tangled up on the stairs, which was really fucking embarrassing even though no one was around to witness it, so by the time he gets upstairs Pete’s in the middle of flinging himself at some guy who looks too cool to be at one of Ana’s parties. Pete has wrapped himself around the new guy and Mikey tries to quell the jealousy churning acidly in his stomach.

“Frankie!” Pete greets happily.

Frankie politely disentangles himself from Pete but his smile says he’s genuinely happy to see him. “Hey Pete.”

Pete pouts at him. “Don’t you love me anymore, Frankie?”

Frankie laughs. “Oh, you’ll always be my one and only, Wentz.”

“Liar,” Pete retorts happily.

“Who’s your friend?” Frankie inquires with interest.

“This is Mikey.”

“Oh?” Frankie’s left eyebrow arches in the effortless way that Mikey’s been trying to perfect whenever he gets a moment alone in front of the mirror. Thus far he’s had to settle for looking at people over the rims of his glasses to achieve the same effect.

Mikey’s not sure what Frankie’s tone implies but it’s something that makes Pete flush a little which is interesting because he’s never seen that happen before. He’s not sure what to do so he smiles politely and tries not to stare at Frankie’s piercings or tattoos because he can’t be any older than Mikey and who are this kid’s parents? The one time Mikey had even _mentioned_ wanting a tattoo his mom had flown off the handle and given him an hour long lecture on how he was too young to have anything he wanted to remember forever even though he’s pretty sure she got her first tattoo when she was, like, 16 or something.

“You coming, Mikes?”

Pete’s giving him an expectant look and Mikey realizes with a jolt that he’s just spaced an entire conversation. The alcohol in his system is making him drowsy so he nods his acquiescence and lets Pete lead him outside and up a trellis, which does not lead to their imminent demise, much to Mikey’s surprise. They end up on the roof, hidden from view.

Thirty minutes and several hits later and Mikey’s not sure how he should be feeling. Mostly he just feels giggly. Pot turns him into a twelve-year-old girl. Good to know.

“What are you thinking about?” Pete asks, sounding like he’s a million miles away.

Mikey trails his fingers through the air, parting the dark like water. “I feel like I could roll off the roof and I’d just float to the ground.”

Pete snorts and reaches over to grab his wrist. “It’ll be more like free-fall for two seconds followed by broken bones and blinding pain.”

“Is that experience talking?”

Pete just smiles beatifically, suddenly mere centimeters from Mikey’s face, lovely and out of focus. Breath catches in his throat and he has long enough to think: “He’s going to kiss me. He’s fucking going to fucking kiss me.” And then he _does_.

Pete’s lips are cold and his tongue is warm and his fingers burrow under Mikey’s thin shirt. He’s never been in free-fall before but he thinks this must be what it feels like; like the bottom’s dropped out and he’s defying gravity.

Mikey wonders what will happen when he reaches the ground.


End file.
